Page 2 of Mafia And Maid

These people and I are from different worlds, and the mocking whispers at my back are all the indication I need to know that they realize it too. As I lean back against the polished wood, my gut churns with how badly I want to be far away from here. I tug again on my sleeve, hoping to conceal the edges of black ink that peek out. It’s pointless, but I don’t feel like giving them any more ammunition.

A body slides in beside me, and my back goes rigid. “Mind if I sit?” a weathered voice croons, and I shake my head. “Isn’t it just lovely?” she carries on.

I turn my focus onto the woman. Older, dressed in her Sunday’s finest, including a stupid hat with lace and mesh. “Yeah,” I growl as politely as possible, once more taking in the ridiculous decorations and fanfare. I wonder if I should tell her that I’ve just been thinking how it looks like a bridal magazine barfed all over the place, but something tells me she wouldn’t quite agree.

“It’s so wonderful to see how traditional everything is. It just warms my heart. Do you know the bride or the groom?”

“Bride’s father.”

“How wonderful.” I listen with half an ear as she continues to blabber on and on about the decorations. “What was it you said you did?” she asks in her singsong voice.

“My brothers and I are in the pharmaceutical trade.”

“Oh, you’re a doctor?” she exclaims, obviously impressed.

“Er, not quite. I’m more on the import-export side.” That’s easier than explaining that we distribute drugs while running clubs and casinos to launder the money through.

I see her gaze catch the tattoos running up the back of my thick neck.

“Oh.”

Her one syllable holds more contempt than a whole sentence could, and the curl of her lip causes my fist to automatically tighten, making the scars more prominent. The judgment pours off her in waves, and it takes every ounce of my strength not to move or say something I’ll come to regret later.

I don’t need to impress these people, not that it’s even possible. Instead of furthering the conversation, I relax into the pew, one arm stretched over the lacquered back.

The woman doesn’t say more, and I send up a silent prayer in fucking thanks. Perhaps miracles do happen just once in a blue moon.

Marco and Alessio slide in beside me, and from their faces, I can tell that their little chat didn’t go well because Marco’s usual expression is darker and harder. I raise a brow to my brothers. But Alessio shakes his head at me as he gets comfortable in the pew. We’ll discuss it at home, it seems. I turn back toward the altar as the music begins, and a hush falls over the crowd while everyone shuffles to find their seat.

The priest stands tall beside a groom who looks disgustingly too old for Davis’s daughter. He must be at least twenty years older than her.

The groom straightens his suit and smooths his hair back. Something about him makes him look exactly like the sort of person Conor Davis would put on a pedestal because everything about the groom screams educated, cultured, and refined—thus making him a perfect match for his precious eldest daughter.

We stand as the procession music starts, and sniffs and gasps sound as the happy bride, Rosa Davis, proceeds down the aisle, nodding greetings to her guests.

As she comes closer to me, I can see her features more clearly. And time stops ticking for a few seconds…

Because everything about this woman is absolutely perfect—beautiful.She’s like an angel.

Her face is behind a sheer veil, her blond hair in an intricate updo, and her conservative wedding dress trails behind her with a train so long it seems like a fire hazard. But not even the dress can draw my attention away from her stunning looks, my gaze lingering on her body with its curves in all the right places.

And as she passes me, she looks directly at me. And she smiles. It’s a smile that’s only for me…

But before I can react, she passes, and I’m left watching her back as she walks down the rest of the aisle. She takes her place across from her soon-to-be husband, her father placing her hand in the groom’s.

Her wide hips flare beautifully, and I can’t stop staring at her gorgeous, full ass… I mentally shake myself. What the hell is wrongwith me? She was smiling at everyone, right? Of course that smile wasn’t a special one just for me. And she’s about to marry another man. Why on earth am I looking at her in this way?

Anyway, who in their right mind would want something like this? Relationships, marriage, love—all that fucking unicorns and rainbows shit isn’t for men like me. And shaking my head, I let my mind wander and drift off to think about business matters—about the next person I need to deal with.

At the end of the ceremony, the happy couple walks past, but this time, the bride’s face is turned away from me as she looks at the guests in the opposite pew.

All too soon, Alessio nudges me, jerking his chin forward. We’re moving to the reception.

I stand, following my brothers out the other end of the pew, dragging my hand down my jaw. I can think of a hundred things I’d rather be doing than making polite conversation in a room full of people who think they’re better than me.

We pile into the dark SUV, and I spread out in the back as Alessio drives us down the street toward where the reception is being held at the family’s ostentatious residence—because a man like Davis takes every opportunity to flaunt what he has. Thankfully, it isn’t too far from where the ceremony took place.

“I assume it went badly?” I comment.

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